


A Christmas Carol

by ARMEN15



Category: Bron | Broen | The Bridge
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-06 07:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16828060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARMEN15/pseuds/ARMEN15
Summary: It's that time of the year, when families meet and read in front of the fire.... Christmas in a peculiar Danish house, let's them have a good time as a family.... dedicated to my nordic bridge friends, S, M, J and UAs usual, no copyright infringements, all rights belong to authors and producers





	1. Chapter 1

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

CHAPTER 1 

Astrid Sabroe and her classmate Maja Flink walked fast along the corridor of the school ground floor; Maja prompted Astrid to move.  
“Come on, I want to find seats in the front rows!”  
“Why it’s so important?”  
“The principal will tell us the Christmas play we’re going to put in scene.”  
“But it's the beginning of November.”  
“It takes time, Astrid, you don’t imagine how much, we students of last grade do the play all by ourselves, it’s the big event of the year!”  
Maja was so excited Astrid was soon infected by her enthusiasm.  
After two months at her new school she was learning new things every day.  
She and her father had some difficulties in the choice of the institute, Henrik wanted a friendly environment, a nice place and an interesting program. Astrid was again fluent in Danish so they decided for a school in her home country, then they would evaluate again.  
Their selection was a school a little far from home, but Henrik didn’t care the quarter hour drive every morning and afternoon.  
He was acting as Lillian Larsen replacement ad interim, since Lillian took a six month pause, including a long tour of the United States with her new prosecutor fiancée.  
Henrik was happy to leave the field, he had a family to think about and didn't want to risk his life again, like it happened when he got a bullet in the leg last February.  
The new position meant regular working hours, free week ends and a lot of time to spend with Astrid.  
The girls entered the school great hall and found two free seats in the second row.  
Soon they were surrounded by fellow students talking and laughing and the teachers had to ask silence more than once when the principal arrived.  
Mrs. Nilsson jumped on the stage and took the microphone.  
“I know what you’re waiting for. But I wont tell it now!”  
A chorus of disapproval followed.  
“Before, all the newcomers of the last grade must know how we manage the Christmas play.”  
Maja touched Astrid in the ribs.  
“This is for you, listen.”  
“It is our own production, we’ll have the big Friday evening for families and friends and then a performance for the other students on Sunday afternoon before Christmas. Each student who want to act can have a part, those who like to sing join the choir and the young set designers, directors and costume designers all will work together.”  
She paused and called the other teachers on the stage; each would have a role in the setting of the play and in helping the students.  
“In your classes the teachers will give you forms to apply to the various roles and I expect you to fill them and by Monday morning give them back. You’ll have the week end to think about it. For the acting roles, there will be auditions and the choice must be accepted without complains, understood?”  
The principal passed the microphone to the music teacher who explained this time the chorus had to be bigger, around 30 singers were needed to perform traditional songs. He went on with the rehearsal program and fixed the dates, soon loosing the audience interest.  
One of the literature teacher, Mr. Henlund, would act as the director of the production, with the assistance of the English teacher  
Maja whispered to Astrid that it had to be a foreign work.  
“How do you know?”  
“They will make us study the context of the English or American writer, trust me. Last year it was French, my cousin told me so.”  
Mrs. Nilsson took the microphone again.  
“And now the big moment. Do you want to know?”  
She used to tease the students a little and everybody knows it  
“Do you really want to know?”  
They shouted a general yes.  
“A Christmas carol by Charles Dickens.”


	2. Chapter 2

CH 2 

Astrid explained her father all things related to the play while he started working in the kitchen and turned the oven on.  
She sat on a high chair, eating slices stolen from the apples he was cutting for an apple pie and texting with her classmates their choices for the play.  
“Maja wants to sing, she is good, her mother is an opera singer and she took lessons.”  
“And you? Do you have a preference?”  
“I’d like to help with the set design, there are large paintings to do.”  
“That‘s a good idea, you do what you like, not what your friends do.”  
“The majority wants to act, you know, so all families will come and see them on stage.”  
“I did a part in a school play, around your age.”  
“You liked it?”  
“Yes, but I never tried again, although they said I had talent. Once was enough, I got stage fear the final day and I remember I vomited during all the afternoon before it started.”  
“But you’ll come and see our work if I don’t act, won't you?”  
“Sure Astrid, I’ll come.”  
The key turned in the lock and Saga entered with a bag full of books. Henrik turned to her.  
“You’re early, you wrote you’d be home around eight.”  
“A black out in the library lighting and heating. It closed and I had to take home all the texts. I have to finish the essay in two days. There’s another bag in the car.”  
“I’ll go get it as soon as I finished here.”  
Saga approached and sniffled the dough.  
“Cake?” She stole three apple slices, Henrik took another fruit from the fridge.  
“Dad is doing an apple pie.”  
“I like apple pie.”  
“I know, I bake your favourite cake and cook Astrid’s favourite pasta. So you’re both happy.”  
He put the knife down.  
“I go and collect the books. Astrid, tell Saga about the play.”  
Henrik got his car key and opened the front door.  
Since the Porsche had been stolen from the university parking, around two months ago, Saga had been without a car and Henrik suspected it had been a big factor in her decision to live with him.  
She was on a monthly rent and he grabbed the occasion: Astrid had started school, things were getting better between the three of them, so he felt ready.  
He had no problems in lending Saga his own car or driving her to the train station and they were discussing to buy a new car at the beginning of the new year, as soon as the financial settlements they had been involved with – Frank’s trial and Saga's parents inheritance – would appear in the bank accounts. Alice's life insurance had been already a huge income but Henrik's lawyer assured him Frank had the money the court sentenced him to pay.  
Henrik wanted Christmas to come soon, he had a big project if all went well.  
He returned and Saga was rummaging in one of the boxes piled up in front of the rear windows, the carpenter had to come and install the new bookshelves for Saga’s readings.  
She opened a second box and like a mole dug in the layers of books  
“I got it.”  
She branded her old copy of the Dickens’ novel, full of small notes on the text, written in pencil.  
“It's a short version, for my high school English. I work on my essay until dinner then we’ll read together the story.”  
Father and daughter nodded and Saga disappeared in the master bedroom where she had changed the drawers under the windows with a white desk.  
After dinner they sat on the couch, Henrik in the middle, Astrid leaning into his right shoulder, knees bent under her, Saga with the ankles propped up on the pouf at his left.  
Henrik breathed pure relief, feeling two warm and alive bodies close to him was a miracle and he wanted to celebrate the incoming festive season like he never did before. And the school play was a good start.  
Henrik asked Saga if she wanted him to read and she refused, she didn’t remember the story well and she wanted to keep concentrated on the book.   
It was an habitude to rest like that in the evening, watching television, dvds or reading; when alone, after Astrid retired for the night, they’d talk about their days and Henrik used to turn the television off for a while to simply observe Saga reading before going himself to bed.  
Her sleeping patterns got better, she still slept a few hours only, but since sharing with Henrik a bed she gained on average a hour of rest.  
I like to look at you, he said once, it was a blessing for him to have here in his house. The beginning of the night was a moment of peace where words were not needed.  
The well known story of the old wealthy man who overcame his greediness was an universal tale and Saga liked the journey Scrooge made during the night of the eve.  
When alone – Astrid in bed, tired and excited at the same time, Henrik talking with her, their private father daughter time – she read again the text and decided to buy the complete version for Astrid. There were similarities between the carol and her own life. Like Scrooge, she buried the remains of her past and worked in the present to build a new future.


	3. Chapter 3

CH 3 

Every month Henrik met with Astrid's counsellor for an evaluation of the issues emerged in her theraphy. First the recurring dreams about the village, then the realization Astrid had no memories of Anna in her Danish house and lately the difficulty to overcome Alice's part in what happened, when her mother accepted the day out with Frank.  
Henrik believed the guilt was mostly his, he pretended to be blind about the way his marriage was falling apart, realising how much he wanted his family only when it disappeared. The price of love had been hard to pay for eight years.  
Still Astrid had a difficult time to deal with her mother’s figure.  
Still Henrik had to go on, he had grieved enough and Astrid needed hope.  
It was a slow and painful journey for Henrik, who would discuss with his own psychologist the very themes brought up by his daughter.  
When Saga moved her things in Denmark, Astrid was visibly happy and started talking about things to do together, about future and not past; her doctor confirmed a phase was opening up for the young woman, the building of a new family. Saga belonged to the future, becoming a positive influence for Astrid.  
The same reason explained why Astrid decided not to submit the form for an acting role on Monday.  
Changing for the night, Henrik told Saga he was quite sure she'd liked to play a part in the school play, remembering the costumes she created and the book of tales she wrote.  
Saga replied that Astrid was starting to overcome her identity disorder and the choice to apply for the set design confirmed the transition she was making.  
Henrik accepted her theory and Saga closed her pc to get under the covers. Her essay earned her a positive evaluation, the first exam of her course was half done.  
“So do you think she 's feeling better now?”  
“The traumas she suffered will remain in her for ever. We work to give her stability and reassure her as much we can.”  
“You're right, I'm too optimistic.”  
“You’re a father who tries to protect. My own experience is a proof of how hard is to forget. But she's strong, she's a survivor.”  
“We're all survivors.”  
“Yes. We found each other.”  
“It was meant to be. I'm not a fatalist, but you're the best that happened to me since I lost them.”  
Saga pondered his words. Henrik was right, it wasn't sacrificing herself for Henrik, giving him their baby or finding Astrid for him. It was wanting him for herself, in a selfish righteous way.  
Her journey of revelation cleared her mind about him, her doctor helped her in finding the patterns: she was driven by guilt and duty for years, now she was eager to express her needs.  
No more restraining, no more denying how much Henrik meant for her and the relief she felt knowing it was the same for him. So after summer days at the sea and a short holiday spent in London - their first time there, as a family - she was ready to share house, the loss of the car simply accelerated the choice.  
And they needed another car soon.  
“I'm going to take Astrid at a conference for teenagers on Friday. About critical reading, there is the flyer at university.”  
“In Malmo?”  
“Yes.”  
”If you drive me to work, you can have the car all day.”  
“We'll catch you after work.”  
“And we'll go to buy groceries, I'm planning a special dinner for your first exam done.”  
“Half exam.”  
“Whatever, it's to celebrate your achievement.”

On Friday morning Saga was already at the driver’s seat when Astrid and Henrik left the house: Astrid sat at her usual place behind the driver and Saga notice from the mirror she was curious.  
“I’m driving you to school and Henrik to work. I’ll catch you after school and we’re going to Malmo for a conference.”  
“It’s ok, dad? Today my class ends an hour earlier, but I can wait in the library.”  
“Yes Astrid, Saga thinks you’ll like it. And she wants to do book shopping with you.”  
In the afternoon, a few parents were waiting for the students outside the school, Saga guessed they were families of Astrid's classmates.  
Astrid was talking with two girls, then she greeted them and approached the car. One of the girls noticed Saga and called her mother, a tall woman with long auburn hair, to go out of the car; mother and daughter soon walked toward Saga .  
“Astrid, where is your father?” The woman asked.  
“He's at work, me and Saga are going to Malmo.”  
Maja's mother offered Saga her hand.  
“Saga.”  
“Suzanne. Does Astrid’s father know you're here? He’s always the one who comes for Astrid or he calls another parent if he cannot.”  
Realization dawned on Astrid and Saga.  
“ Saga lives with us, she is dad’s woman. You never met her before.”  
“I'm an ex detective. Astrid is safe with me.”  
“I'm sorry... I was worried, you know, to see somebody new pick her up.”  
Suzanne was a little embarrassed, but Saga promptly reassured her.  
“Your attitude is right, better be careful and prevent risks. Citizen help is the base for police work.”  
“We parents met with all the teachers when school started, it seems we were short of one.”  
Later, Astrid was smiling in the car, thinking about the misunderstanding.  
“You handled Maja’s mom well.”  
“Her reaction was logical, after what happened to you. She’s a clever woman. And I was not living with you when the parents met.”  
“I’m not a little child now, no one can trick me like frank did”  
“You must be extra careful, with everyone. Henrik cannot loose you again.”  
“And you?”  
“What?”  
“Can you loose me?” 

The conference hall was crowded and Saga and Astrid had to sit on the stairs like other people.  
Astrid whispered she never imagined a similar attendance.  
The relator was a famous professor and writer, Saga explained, she followed one of her seminar at university and was impressed by the communicating skills.  
Starting from why it was so important for children and young adults to read, how to give them reasons - from having to, through wanting to and eventually needing to – concluding with tow to help them in finding the right books, time and reasons and always remembering everyone reads with “he” or “she” in the background, the lectured had the audience at her feet.  
Saga took note of the proposed strategies, planning to discuss them with Henrik.  
She liked the book discussion group idea, maybe she could start one in Astrid's class with the other parents.  
They bought the Dickens book and a selection of readings suggested by the lecturer. Back home, Astrid in bed earlier than usual, with one of her brand new books, Henrik was curious to know the details.  
He was positive with the discussion group idea, he 'd call Astrid’s literature teacher soon.  
Whatever increased the healthy bonds, inside their small family first, between Astrid and her friends second, it was good for Henrik.


	4. Chapter 4

CH 4 

“What are you going to give dad for Christmas?”  
The question took Saga by surprise and she stopped drinking her coffee to reflect.  
She was living with Henrik - albeit temporary, she told herself, knowing he’d never throw her out again - she was supposed to remember dates like birthdays or anniversaries - although she still debated if they anniversary was the first time they had sex or the evening of their first kiss – to celebrate holidays and to act by consequence.  
Trying not to show Astrid her uneasiness, Saga answered she was open to suggestions, because Christmas was close, less than a month, and her options were few.  
“I think dad accepts whatever gift from me or you.”  
“You're his baby, but why also from me?”  
“Come on, as a man he has eyes for you only, I see when he collects me at school, how the other mothers look at him, there are a few divorced or single and he's become the hottest man around. He is polite and says hallo and nothing more. He don't look at them.”  
“Is that so? I've met Maja's mom, she's kind.”  
“She's good and nice, but the others! If you don’t believe me, come and see. I heard two girls betting which woman dad will choose and I wanted to tell them dad has already find his best friend.”  
“Me and your father are more than friends.”  
Astrid rolled her yeas at Saga, she knew her difficulties in understanding some subtle aspect of human interaction, especially regarding her own love life.  
“How do you want to be defined? Girlfriend, partner, lover?”  
“There is a difference. We’re too old to be considered girlfriend and boyfriend. And lovers often are non committed people who could be married and unfaithful.”  
Astrid nodded, Saga was learning, slowly.  
“Now that‘s sorted out, back to the gift part. I’m going to buy him music, he has an impressive stereo covered by dust. I want him to improve his collection with something modern. And I’ll do a portrait of dad, grandpa Klaus bought me canvas and colours and I work on it at my private art class and when I visit the grannies. It’s a big surprise for dad.”  
“Do you think he’ll buy me a gift?”  
“I’m sure. But it will be a surprise so you’ll get no clues from me.”  
Saga took a sheet and a pen to write down her ideas. The firsts that sprung to her mind were too trivial, good for a friend, not for a partner. Her concentration was weak, Astrid's words about the mothers at school admiring Henrik were a distraction she couldn't put aside.  
And the gift itself, the idea of giving something for the pleasure to make another person happy.  
The prison pottery mug, the only object she gave him.  
It was on Henrik's office desk, then suddenly disappeared. Saga never asked Henrik the reason, she guessed it was another way to erase her from his life. When she was writing the urgent reports on Susanne's arrest, her desk was a mess with all the folders Jonas put on it and her stapler fell on the floor; she had to kneel to retrieve it and she saw a small piece of ceramic between the desk panel and the trash bin.  
It was the colour of her mug, at a considerable distance from the desk Henrik mainly used. Not an accidental fall, she was sure. He was so angry those days, before their world realigned again with Astrid.  
She had to find the right gift, one with the meaning and the importance Henrik deserved.

At the beginning of December all the houses in Henrik's street were decorated for the incoming holidays.  
Henrik had kept his house bare for eight years, a black sheep in the coloured flock of his neighborhood, so it was a sort of revelation the possibility to dress it again in Christmas colours for his daughter. The first time he’d do it for Saga, too, in two years they had celebrated the holidays in the shallow prison visiting room.  
He went into the basement to inspect the boxes full of decorations Alice bought years before. He took off carefully the items and saw the lights didn't turned on and the fake tree was loosing all the green needles.  
Alice was careful to choose balls and lights safe for little children, not to be inadvertently eaten causing choking.  
Not a good idea to open that can of worms: near the boxes full of coloured balls he saw a plastic envelope full of photos.  
His hand trembled and he had to sit on the bare floor. Photos of his daughters under the Christmas tree, one for each year, at first Astrid then also Anna, playing with dolls or stuffed toys and wearing festive dresses.  
A tear fell on a photo and Henrik swiftly wiped it to preserve the print. The past was still in his present, how beautiful it would have been to have both daughters with him.  
His counsellor told him to cry whenever he had the need, his grief still powerful, lessened only by Astrid's presence and Saga's choice to stay.  
He had lost his wife, a daughter and an unborn child, still he had two women to live for.  
When his eyes got dry, he stood up and put the useless or broken things in the trash.  
He planned a day off from work and after dropping Astrid at school and Saga at the station he drove to a department store with a huge display of Christmas decorations. He bought lights, balls for the trees, a star made of paper with a light inside, wreaths, a candelabrum, a branch of mistletoe and a pine in a vase, to be recycled later at the same store.  
In a nearby shop he saw dishes and table clothes with seasonal prints and added them to the purchases.  
He spent an hour setting up everything as a surprise for his daughter, controlling from the outside there were no visible decorations, so back from school Astrid got off the car without any clue.  
She was delighted to see the tree - covered with silver and red balls - standing proud in the middle of the living area and the wreaths dangling from the back windows.  
Henrik showed her candles and lights for the front side of the house and they worked as a team to complete the project.  
She barely remembered her mother's decorations, at the village Harriet and Frank were never eager to celebrate Christmas, but her house now was in full seasonal mood.  
She eyed the mistletoe, asking her father why he bought it.  
“It’s the tradition. If you stand under a mistletoe with a woman, you have to kiss her and she cannot refuse.”  
“Are you planning to kiss Saga?”  
“I do hope.”  
“You used to kiss Mom.“  
“Mom liked it a lot, she was such a caring woman, she kissed me back, too.”  
“Place it over the corridor entrance, Saga will never notice it. If you get it over the front door she’ll see it immediately. Make it appear like a normal decoration.”

The teachers decided to develop the reading discussion group from January on, but the Christmas play would be the start of the project.  
Henrik wanted to add Saga's number to the parents phone group, they had to discuss the same books of the students to help and interact with them.  
Saga was unsure, she started filling the dishwasher with excessive precision to get the right spot for every glass.  
“The teachers think yours is an excellent project.”  
“It seemed a good idea then.”  
“Still is.”  
“But the parents, I'm not good at interaction with people.”  
“It's only a bunch of parents, harmless. Some are very boring.”  
“Still they are parents.”  
“You're too, for me and Astrid you are.”  
“I m not her mother.”  
“There's a rainbow family and a few step parents in.”  
She lowered her gaze.  
The three of them was a thing, known by a few ex colleagues and relatives only, coming out with the rest of the world still difficult.  
Henrik touched briefly her hand to stop Saga switching again the glasses in the basket.  
“If you don't feel up to, it is not a problem.”  
“Remember I'm not good at house sharing. And now child sharing.”  
He nodded, hard to balance their life as a couple: pushing her too much could be counterproductive, still he wanted her to know how much he cared.  
“Nobody forces you, we'll continue our way.”  
Saga stood up and closed the dishwasher.  
“Astrid asked me if I can loose her now. I can't. Put me in the group.”

The young painters worked along the windows of the great hall, leaving the stage to the choir; the traditional songs helped to create an atmosphere of serenity, it was better than having the actors rehearsing, with their bickering and quarrelling.  
The students needed space to paint over the large sheets and panels that had to represent the acts of the play.  
The art teacher was supervising and giving suggestions, he had traced basic contours in black and the students were applying layers of colours, using a different technique for each of the four scenes prepared.  
The actors arrived after a costume session, Mr. Henlund was discussing on the phone and his words resounded in the excellent acoustics of the hall.  
All because the replacement of the main actress had abandoned the cast after an hysteric discussion because the director didn't allow her a costume that better showed her body. She was one of the most beautiful girls of the school and the play set at the end of the 1800 required traditional costumes.  
Mr. Henlund went to the art teacher and started complaining all the girls were excited like Hollywood starlets and not amateurs performers in the Nordic tradition of Ingrid Bergman.  
The colleague laughed and told him his painters were quiet for the moment, not pretending to be the new Andy Warhol.  
The director looked at the line of painters and noticed Astrid's profile.  
“That one would be good for me, but she didn’t subscribe for the casting. Who is she?”  
“The blue cardigan? Astrid Sabroe, she’s new to the school.”  
Mr. Henlund approached Astrid’s chair and noticed her use of dark colours with thick brush strokes.  
“Come and sit with me for a moment.”, he asked her, gesturing to one of the last rows.

Astrid eyed the Peugeot waiting for her outside the school building, with dad and Saga.  
She called Maja for a free ride home and the girls run to the car, excited, Astrid waving the script in her hand.  
“I’ve acted today! The director want me to be the substitute of the main actress!”  
“She was great, I saw her on stage.”  
“That’s great Astrid, do you like it?” Henrik was happy seeing his daughter happy.  
“A lot. Mr. Henlund wants Crochit to be a woman instead of a man to give girls a bigger role. He says we can try new things in a play and see how it gets.”  
Maja confirmed Astrid’s words.  
“My mother says it is common, sometimes directors change time or space in stage productions.”  
Saga opened the script and saw notes on the margin.  
“Interesting uptake. The main core of the story is unchanged. Acting is a new experience for you.”  
“Yes Saga, like dad, he told me he did a part in a school play and he was good, maybe he could have become an actor, not a detective.”  
“Oh Astrid, with my tooth gap nobody would hire me.”  
Saga looked at him like she was assessing his acting possibilities.  
“Why not? You’d be a good character actor. Or you become a detective after the crime film of the eighties?”  
“Thanks Saga, I entered police after my father business was bought by his creditors.”  
“I don’t know for sure what I’d like to do in the future, I don’t know if I m talented enough in painting.”  
Maja nodded, they had talked a lot about going together to an art school to express their artistic sides.  
“You girls will have all the time to decide.” Saga declared and started telling them she wanted to study microbiology before entering the police academy. Astrid replied that Saga was changing again her life, going back to university for a master in criminology.  
“The time I was police felt right, now I want to explore something else.”


	5. Chapter 5

CH 5

“I've got the idea for Henrik’s gift.”  
Astrid's hand stopped around the orange she was picking up from the fruit basket. She and Saga were having a late Saturday lunch, heating what Henrik cooked in the morning before going to the annual commemoration of the police colleagues killed in service.   
They had studied the script together, Astrid memorizing the part and Saga reading the lines of the others performers.  
“Tell me.”  
“An evening out as a couple. He repeats we are his greatest gift so I thought to give him a special time with me. And those women at school, I want to protect what we have.”  
A long session with her doctor dedicated to handle residual fears helped Saga to clarify herself that love is also made of sharing and compromising.   
“That's great, a really good idea. I’m sure he’ll like it.”  
“But I don’t know from where to start. I need your help. I never had to plan a date before.”  
Astrid seemed perplexed.   
“Dad was your first?”   
“I had .. a few boyfriends before Henrik. And the dating was ...fast.”  
“But you are together for nearly three years now.”  
“I was in prison for more than a year and before we had the difficult trial. I have no experience. You are younger and heard from friends or from tv how to plan.”   
Astrid remembered when Mads invited Louise to go out for a movie. The date had been a subject of girls gossip at school for a week.  
Maja told Astrid Mads was clearly at first interested in her and if only Astrid made a move he’d ask her out and not Louise, but Astrid wasn’t ready. She remembered Cristoffer like a dream of a lifetime ago, she was new to the world of modern boys.   
She was closer to Saga's inexperience more than the older woman imagined.  
“Did you have already a general setting or not? “  
“He likes to eat out and watch movies. I’d prefer theatre. He once asked me out at a famous restaurant.”  
“You could eat first than see a movie or go to theatre or a night at the museum..”  
“Henrik wanted to go to Geranium. It is difficult to find a place he said.”   
“If it is all booked you’ll find another one.”   
They discussed about practical details, the most important where Astrid would be, not to spoil the surprise.   
Christmas was on Tuesday and Henrik's parents were waiting for them, the school play would be on Friday evening, Astrid suggested Saga to reserve for the preceding weekend, Friday night, when she would visit her mother's relatives.   
It would be an early gift but Saga could still buy something else for the 25th.  
Saga was lucky with the restaurant, at first they wanted to place her on the waiting list, then the woman on the phone spoke with someone and offered Saga a table for the first round of the evening, a little earlier than usual but good for the theatre later, Astrid declared.  
They studied the theatres and bought on line two seats in the parterre with a good view of the stage.  
Then came the difficult questions: dress, hair, make up.  
She remembered the women she saw at the single club event, when she and Henrik got together for the first time, all carefully refined and well dressed.  
Saga wasn’t partial at the idea to change her appearance but she imagined Henrik would expect her to do so. Astrid’s idea was different.   
“Dad likes you the way you are. Let’s make just little changes. You can brush your hair better or make a ponytail. And buy a nice shirt!”  
“Can you come with me to buy it?”   
“I’m not a fashion expert.”   
“You’re better than me. I only buy books.”  
Astrid read the insecurity in Saga's face, the fear to do something wrong, the importance for her to please Henrik. She appeared like a girl nervous for her first serious date, the date that can change everything.   
Astrid knew her father’s feelings were deeper than Saga still imagined, he had been open in explaining Astrid how he fell in love after Alice was found dead.   
“Dad won’t be disappointed whatever you give him.”   
Saga lowered her eyes, Astrid was unaware of the only time she truly disappointed him.   
“Ok, I’ll help you with clothes and make up, we’ll stick to hydrating foundation and a lipstick.”   
“Not red like the Anker case.”  
Astrid let the comment pass, not the moment to debate on evidences on dead bodies. There were already enough references to police stuff at home, because Saga was off duty but wanted Henrik to talk about his cases and she gave him useful suggestions. The reason she left police was a mistery for Astrid.   
“Not red. Pink or hazel. And a perfume. There is a one in the wardrobe, a gift to my mother I think. I’ll get it.”   
“I don’t want to use hers.”  
Astrid returned with two perfumes, one a quarter full, the other still wrapped in plastic.   
She sprayed the first on her wrist and asked Saga to smell it; jasmine, rose and some other fragrance, very classy, very ladylike.   
“This is hers. She was crazy for this perfume, I remember Dad gave it for her birthday.”  
Saga seized the small bottle, Chanel n. 5, one of the best known and expensive in the world. Alice did had good tastes, in everything. Her house, her clothes, her husband.  
Astrid’s nostrils were still smelling the fragrance, the girl was lost in recollections.   
Was the loving maternal embrace, the hand that wiped off the tears after a bicycle fall, the good night kiss, the little things Saga read about and never had for herself.  
And this girl brusquely went from being loved by a sweet woman to the coldness of a different house, a man who never was a father taking care of her.  
It was a miracle she survived and was still able to appreciate her former home, although Alice would never live with her again.   
Saga tentatively put an hand on Astrid shoulder and a new rush of emotions from deep inside her went to the surface when the girl turned to her and smiled.   
“Let’s try the other one. I’ll see on internet the composition.” Saga offered.   
Black Opium in its original package, from the description nuances more fruited than flowered. Astrid opened it and asked Saga the wrist.   
“Try on yours.”  
“I cannot, I’ve already one on me, it confuses the nose. The shop lady told me so when me and Maja bought some makeup.”  
It was indeed different, more fresh and fast to wear, on Saga’s skin lingered notes of citrus fruits and she sprayed a little on her t shirt, like an actress saw on tv.   
Astrid laughed and Saga followed, it felt right to enjoy a happy moment with her girl.


	6. Chapter 6

CH 6

Saga listened to the vocal from Henrik’s private phone, the one he decided to buy for close relatives only.   
“I’m late for dinner, traffic. Multiple car accident until the bridge Barbara told me. I’m stuck since I left office. On the phone with Barbara and the team.”  
Saga texted there was no hurry, she was studying and Astrid was at Maja’s with other girls and would eat there.   
He replied to have dinner without waiting for him, there was a fresh quiche with ham, cheese and vegetables to heat in the microwave.  
When Henrik entered home around nine, he hung the coat, got rid of his shoes with difficulty and sat heavily on the couch, his legs up on the small table.   
Since living together, Saga learned to read his body language. Henrik was tired, worried, he had a difficult new case, parents killed in the woods in front of their two children, too shocked to remember something. No traces of the killer, the whole team doing extra shifts to find a solution.   
Saga offered him half the quiche, he asked for a glass of water only.   
“I called Astrid, she’ll be here in less than a hour.”  
“Good, so I can tell her good night and go to bed.”  
“Is it so bad?”   
He showed her the forensic report, she read it avidly.  
“Terrible. They suffered long before dying.”  
“I have to solve it.”  
“Can I help you?”   
“Yes, giving me a glass of something stronger.”  
She looked at him with huge eyes and a rigid posture, he gave her the glass smiling.  
“More water, please. Don’t worry, I’m not going to relapse.”   
He grabbed Saga’s arm and passed his hand up and down.  
“You could give me something else to numb my mind for a while, but we haven’t time now.”  
“Technically, we have.”  
He kissed her palm.  
“Things are good now, quick fuck aren’t ours anymore, are they?”   
“No, they aren’t.”  
“So come here and look at the case again with me.”  
Saga had already saw a few photos and spent half of the previous night discussing the case with Henrik. Something in the forensic report captured her attention; she tried to call David in Lund but he did not answered, so she sent him the images and the file and asked to be contacted soon. Her theory was feeble – it wasn’t about the killer being left of right handed, but about the force used to give a blow with both arms, one of them could be impaired - but better try it than not.  
Henrik was reading from the folder when the doorbell rang; Astrid had her own keys so Saga opened the door wondering who it could be.   
Astrid, Maja and another girl entered the house dressed in the white traditional dress of Saint Lucia day.  
They had a red ribbon each and wore candles in a small crown, two held a bowl full of traditional cookies, ginger and saffron, one had a pot of coffee; Suzanne closed the group with musical scores.  
“We’ve prepared a surprise, dad. Maja’s cousin is here for a few days and in Sweden they celebrate Lucia a lot.”  
The girls stood in the middle of the room, Suzanne gave each a score and they started singing traditional songs  
Astrid at first was timid, but Maja and her cousin had a good voice and Suzanne . joined them for a few lines.  
Saga recognized the songs, she heard them at school a long time ago and Jennifer liked to sing around Christmas time. They never dressed in white, their mother forbidding it. So they used to follow the other girls along the streets and Jennifer tried to sing. Saga noticed she started singing only when Astrid went at her side with the score.   
Suzanne smiled and offered Henrik hers for the last song to perform all together. 

The shopping afternoon - a white shirt with a round neck and long sleeves, a green cardigan with two big buttons, small purchases in a make up shop - was easier than Saga feared and she treated Astrid with a chocolate and cake pause when she saw in the shopping centre various mothers and daughters sat at the cafeteria with their purchases. Astrid deserved that and much more.   
A woman with short hair, pushing a cart with a little boy in the apposite seat, passed by and looked at them with curiosity, then she approached Saga who stared at her for a moment blankly.  
“You don’t remember me? Asa Holst, the case… Ah, I cut my hair.”  
Saga stood up and shook the proffered hand, looking at the young boy.  
Asa lifted him up. “Jan’s going to be three in a few months.”  
“He’s big for a three year old.”   
“Freddie never was a thin man.” Asa looked at Astrid who smiled politely. “Your daughter is lovely. She resembles you a lot. I have to go, nice to meet you. Merry Christmas to you and your family.”  
She left without giving Saga time to reply. Astrid and herself similar? She glimpsed their reflection in a shop window and had to admit that with the little make up they both had a general resemblance was noticeable.   
Astrid was curious, wanting to know who the woman was.  
The brief explanation she was related to a case wasn’t enough, knowing it was at the time Saga and Henrik had met, Astrid wanted more details.  
It was the same with aunt Lillian, as she called her affectionately, asking questions about her dad during the lost years, or with her grannies, whenever she met them.   
It was sad to hear that Henrik isolated from everybody – including his own parents and sister - for six years, because he wanted to dedicate every minute of his life outside work to his missing family.   
Her father’s life stopped for such a long time and then he met the woman sat in front of her and started living again.   
She felt guilty for causing him pain, her counsellor helped her to understand she had nothing to blame for having been abducted and that it was dad’s conscious choice to live in his grief. Sometimes people cannot understand who is so hurt and Saga with her own tragic past was the right one to open dad’s shell again and reveal the pearl hiding inside.

Henrik and Astrid visited his parents on Saturday morning; Saga was at university and Henrik grabbed the occasion to plan her gift.   
They were going to his cousin's, he explained while Klaus drove them to a county house surrounded by various buildings, a few minutes drive from the grandparents' home.  
“Your dad has a great idea for Saga's gift.”, Klaus told Astrid while showing her the place.   
“Saga has a great idea for dad, too.”  
“I bet you'll know all their ideas. You're happy with a mom again, aren't you?”   
“Yes, but I'll keep the secrets.”  
Henrik called Astrid from the entrance of a long building.   
“Come here and see.”  
Astrid followed him into a stable, on each side a series of boxes occupied by horses. Some had the head outside, eyeing the visitors, others were eating and two men were petting a brown mare.   
They looked up hearing steps and the shortest one greeted the visitors.  
“Uncle Klaus, Henrik! It has been a long time.”  
Henrik hugged his cousin, a very long time, seven years.  
Klaus explained Astrid Hans was his nephew, the manager of the place.  
Hans had a resemblance to Henrik, the same cheekbones and nose; when he noticed the young woman Hans immediately moved to her.  
“Don't you remember me? I put you and your sister on your first pony.”  
Confusion in Astrid, who looked around to search Henrik's contact. He passed an arm over her shoulders.  
“You were only five, the summer mom had to work in Odense and we were often here.”   
Hans was contrived.  
“I m sorry, now you're grown enough for a real horse.”  
“I never rode.”   
“A Mikelsen who never rode! We need to rectify it soon! Henrik, what do you think?”  
Klaus whispered Astrid Fred Mikelsen was her great grandfather who started the family horse business.  
Henrik smiled and agreed with Hans.  
“But I don’t have a horse dad!”  
“Our families owns this place, long before I was born. Half the horses here are ours. Granddad will show ours. And maybe if you like, one of the next spring foals will become your own horse. Now I have to talk with Hans and we have to make a important call.”  
He blinked his eye and Astrid understood it was about the gift; Klaus noticed how much Astrid was looking at the horses, so he went to the store room and took from a shelf a pair of boots and two socks.   
Back to Astrid, he made a proposal.   
“We can rectify now the riding thing, while Henrik and Hans talk.”  
Her eyes got bright so Klaus helped her to change and lead her to the last box.  
“This is Groggen, the sweetest and gentlest horse of the world. He's old, your dad used to ride him when he was young.”  
“He's so big.”  
“I'll keep the second reins, we'll stay in a paddock. Don’t worry. Now put both hands on the knob and lift your left feet, good.”  
A push and Astrid was on.   
Klaus instructed her how to handle the reins, how to prompt the horse with a little push of the knees, how to let her body follow the natural walk of the horse.  
“Take it slowly, let him do everything.”  
When Henrik finished with his cousin, he heard voices from outside the stable.  
Walking out, he saw his daughter on the saddle and his father teaching her how to make the horse draw circles; she was a natural, like his sister had been, while he had to overcome his fear of the big animals as a young kid. He approached them and eyed the horse. Sure it could not be, too many years have passed, horses were long lived but Groggen should be well into his twenties. He went closer cautiously, afraid to be disappointed. The white stain on the left side was like he remembered and the brown front legs, but it couldn’t be him.  
Astrid dismounted and Klaus asked her to go and grab something on the fence; Henrik looked again at the horse, then decided to dare. He whistled twice, one short, one long. The horse raised his head, looked at him, Henrik whistled again then stayed still.   
The horse went to him immediately, crossing the distance with two fast gallops.  
Klaus left the reins when he heard the whistles; Henrik never asked about his beloved horse for years, another way to punish himself, leaving behind everything dear to his heart.  
Henrik caressed the horse, who tried to get into his pockets, where he used to keep the carrot he stole from his mother's kitchen just for Groggen.  
Klaus joined them and handed his son a carrot.   
“I thought he was gone.”  
“He was waiting for you. Always quiet, always smelling carrots in my pockets every time I came here.”


	7. Chapter 7

CH 7

Astrid suggested Saga to take a taxi to go downtown and meet Henrik for the date. In Astrid’s detailed plan for their meeting – fueled by romance novels she read hurriedly and conversations with her girlfriends - Saga would text Henrik pretending to be in town to buy a gift and asking him to collect her at half past six to return home together. He used to leave work around six, the timing was perfect.   
Saga then had to declare she wanted to go to a shop conveniently close to the restaurant, so he'd park the car and follow her. The rest was up to Saga, who felt unsure for the white lie.   
Astrid had to persuade her it was not a lie, simply a way to prepare the surprise she desired so strongly. They texted since early afternoon, Saga was getting nervous.  
“I give up!”  
“No! We invested hours in this idea. We checked restaurant etiquette! You both deserve it.”   
“What if I cannot keep it to myself?”   
“Dad will miss part of the surprise. Still like the idea.”   
“I’m hyperventilating.”   
Saga controlled her pulse and sat on the couch, full dressed – a long scarf and one of Astrid's berets to conceal hair and new clothes - holding the bag with the fake gift.   
Astrid called to persuade Saga to go out and take the taxi. She had to contact Henrik in 20 minutes.  
Saga closed the front door fearing an incoming disaster.  
When Astrid sent her a thumb up, Saga breathed to steady herself and sent the text Astrid had already prepared. Soon Henrik answered, accepting her request.   
She opened the back door of his car and placed the bag on the seats without him commenting, instead he gave her a good news.  
“We solved the case! That’s great, so the team can have a good holidays. Your intuition was right, the killer was the guardian of the swimming pool of the residence where the family lived, he had a limb weaker than the other, a sort of handicap by birth. He was obsessed with the woman and when she refused him he plotted revenge.”  
In another moment Saga would be happy to discuss with Henrik more details of the case, but her mind was full concentrated on her plan.  
“Astrid asked me to buy her some oil colours, to her usual shop.”  
“There's one closer. If we make it fast, we have the house all for ourselves.”  
His photographic memory. Panic. Dry mouth, hands sweating. Stitch to the plan. No. Astrid repeats to come up with something new in case of troubles. Think, think.  
“She had called to reserve them. It’s a new brand she wants. We need to go there.”  
Henrik believed her or wanted to believe, parking the car in a nearby road. After two difficult weeks, he hoped to spend a peaceful evening at home and to end up in bed for a passionate night. He was used to Saga’s strange requests, so he followed her in silence until Saga didn’t turn at the supposed corner.  
“Are you sure it is the right way?”  
“Come on.”  
“The shop is in the parallel street. You're going somewhere else.”  
Saga stopped and bowed her head; her ability to carry on ended there.  
“We're not buying colours. We're having an evening out, me and you. A date. I spoiled the surprise.”  
“An evening out?”  
“Yes, we are supposed to go to a restaurant and then to the theatre. It is my gift.”  
“You planned a real date for us?”  
“Astrid helped me with lots of suggestions.”  
Saga opened her coat, revealing her new clothes and showing Henrik the lipstick she kept in her pocket.  
Henrik smiled, a large affectionate smile Saga knew was all hers.  
“I've never had a better gift. If you want I'll keep my eyes close not to spoil further the surprise.”  
“Keep them open, there's lots of people on the streets, you may crash into someone.”   
He gestured her to lead the way and they walked the short distance to the Geranium.  
Henrik looked at the restaurant sign with huge eyes.  
“Did you remember it?”   
“My first choice. It was all booked, but I managed to have a table. It's for an hour but we have other plans so it is enough.”  
“Thanks. Thanks for everything.”  
Henrik took Saga's elbow and moved closer, until he could place a soft kiss on her cheek.   
“Better late than never.”, he said, opening the door for her.   
Henrik would tell Astrid – curious of every detail - he did not noticed the taste of the food or the look of the place, so lost he was in the woman sharing his table.  
It was more than a Christmas gift, it was a confirmation of the feelings they shared.  
Saga ate with her usual speed and appreciated the lamb ribs and the selection of desserts.   
She had memorized the etiquette - use the external fork first, keep the napkin in place, put knife and fork on the dish when finished, a pause between each course is normal, clean mouth every time you drink and only at the end replace lipstick - and she had print screens of the main rules in case of need.   
The maitre was captivated by her blond hair, he twice asked her if everything was all right. Henrik looked around, Saga with little make up and a slender frame was one of the most beautiful women there. Expensive clothes and jewels and eyelashes full of mascara were nothing compared to her brain for him.   
When the maitre opened the wine list and passed it to Henrik, the refuse was polite but firm.  
“I've got non alcoholic champagne for the toasts at my parents' for Christmas.”  
“Are you sure you want me to come? You plan to spend two nights there.”   
She had met his parents only once, for Astrid's birthday in September, when Henrik prepared an elaborate Sunday lunch. All went well, despite her insecurity, because she was on her own ground, in his house she felt safe; her previous interactions with boyfriends' relatives had been strained to say the least. Henrik repeated his parents were aware of how much Saga meant to him.  
“If you won't come, me and Astrid won't go. I want to enjoy the holidays with you. It is our first Christmas together and it is already becoming more than I could hope for.”  
“But your sister will be there too, you said she disliked Alice, what if is the same with me?”  
Babett Sabroe, four years younger than Henrik, long married to her much older faculty dean she met during her post graduate year in Paris, now both with a position as professors in Paris 3 University, mother of twin boys, from photos a beautiful and slim woman, elegantly dressed from fashion shops.   
“Don't worry, I know my sister, you'll go well together. There’s more than her appearance.”  
“But what if..”  
“Saga, trust me, me and my sister had a special bond, all what happened never broke it and she will understand you, I'm sure.”  
Saga insisted to pay the bill, Henrik opposing in vain. It was her gift and it was her turn.  
The theatre in downtown Copenhagen presented a modern Danish play, the platea had huge seats and they settled comfortably in; Henrik spent half of the time looking at Saga, engrossed in the plot.   
“I've bought tickets for you to watch the play, not me.” she whispered in his ear.  
“I'm too happy to think straight now.”  
The different temperature between the warm theatre and the cold street stung their faces, Saga was glad to wear hat, gloves and scarf and took the offered male arm. Being close to each other means less heath dispersion and lower risk to slip and fall on the various patch of ice. Being so close means also be seen as a couple and Saga observed how the other couples they passed by interacted.  
At a street crossing, a family of four was waiting for green light, the mother holding hand of a girl and the father with a younger child on his shoulder, all tucked up for the cold.  
Henrik looked at them and a sigh escaped from his lips, then he turned to Saga and placed his hand over their joined arms. He had hope again.   
A nearby bell tower stroke eleven. Saga took note and realised she didn’t want the evening to end.  
“I want to walk.”  
“It's your evening out, which way?”   
“I never saw the old harbour.”  
“Nyhavn?”   
“Yes.”  
She had worked in Copenhagen for years, never seeing the city outside police related places. Her focus was on her work only and she missed such aspect of everyday life. Her solo journey helped her to understand life was a sum of experiences that had to be lived, not only read in books, preferably not always alone.  
A text on both phones. Astrid, curious to know if all was going well.  
Henrik smiled - his baby the miss matcher - and answered all was perfect and they were walking to Nyhavn.  
His daughter was sensitive and smart, the best he could hope for. And Astrid needed a female presence in her life, more than ever.  
The Christmas huts were still open and Henrik paid for two hot chocolates and bought a wooden heart to hang on the wall for his girl.


	8. Chapter 8

CH 8

Saga and Henrik returned home long after midnight.  
Saga placed her coat on a chair, happy to be home and tired for the emotional stress; she stood by the sink looking at the houses along the street, all lighted up, also their lights were still on. When Henrik approached her from behind, a hand gently on her shoulder, she did a little jump.  
“It’s me.”  
“I know.”  
She turned, he lowered his arms, he wanted to touch her, he had longed for a proper contact for the whole evening.  
“This going out thing is difficult, when I worked late I wasn't so tired.”  
Sit on the couch for a while, Henrik proposed, afraid the mix of the festive season and the date idea was too much for her. Too many novelties, all of a sudden.   
During dinner she told him it was her third time in a traditional restaurant.   
First time with Anton, a man she had a brief affair with; Martin had encouraged her to give Anton a chance. Anton had similarities with Henrik, the patience he showed, the kindness in his smile.   
Second when Hans and Lillian announced their marriage. She tried to refuse, in vain, Hans wanted her presence.  
Not an impressive record, more scaring than reassuring, nevertheless Henrik was proud of her strength and boldness to dare a change.   
He wanted to express his gratitude, to connect with Saga in an intense way.  
When he and Alice used to go out, before the girls were born, they often ended up a little drunk and sex was routine, a fast intercourse before sleep conquered them.   
He was sober, relaxed, dinner had been light, Astrid was safe with her aunt’s family and he had all the time to thank his woman properly.   
He headed for the bathroom, took off his clothes except trousers and shirt, turned off the lights and lit some candles. Saga’s eyes were closed, her features serene. He sat carefully at her left, started caressing her hand.   
She remained still, he moved to her wrist, very slowly, wanting to make her feel loved, to worship her like he never did before.   
It wasn't lust or desire or mere sensuality - although he did wanted her, in a physical way - it was human connection he wanted to build.  
Up her arm, covered by the new soft garment, to her shoulder, gently rubbing his fingers in the hole between neck and shoulder, where her muscles were tensed - hours spent on the pc or reading, the crack he heard often when Saga twisted her neck – and she let out a sound of satisfaction.   
Saga used to sleep on her right side in their bed so there was a huge difference in how she reacted to his manipulations on the other side of her neck, where the grunt of pain was strong..   
Henrik reduced the pressure of the rubbing and slowly the area relaxed.  
Saga turned her head toward him, his fingers moved along the collar of the shirt, following the fabric until he reached the buttons of the cardigan.   
He opened them and Saga twisted her whole body, making herself more available for Henrik.   
She felt safe with him, their mutual trust was a certainty for her, although still developing day by day.  
His hands on the first button of the shirt, waiting for a sign; Saga opened her eyes, nodded imperceptibly and closed them again.  
Henrik didn't need another input, the shirt was completely open, she had a simple white bra - the kind Astrid used, he did all the laundry - so childlish in the body of a grown up woman. White like Saga’s pure soul, not corrupted by the events of life, never subdued to her misfortunes.  
Henrik lowered his head and placed kisses in the valley of her breast, his fingers slide under the fabric of the cup, caressing the skin, then again up to shoulders, neck, face.   
She smelled different, she wore a perfume, he caught a whiff while they were walking and believed it was a random woman passing by; the fragrance suited Saga well, he had to ask Astrid – sure his daughter was the planner behind all of this – to know the brand.  
By impulse her hand ruffled his hair, pulling him toward her, so the kisses become more intense, Henrik freed a breast and went for its peak. The first contact sent an electric jolt in Saga, when the pressure increased she moaned. That part of the date was becoming more and more interesting, Saga had no desire to hurry up things, it was their longest foreplay ever and she wanted to absorb it full; she was in total girlfriend mood, the evening out did helped her to discover another side of their relationship.  
Henrik lifted his eyes from that sweet paradise and saw Saga's head tilted back, her whole body relaxed, enjoying new sensations. It was what he missed more, what was impossible to have from the women of the club, when he was always short of time, reduced to a fast screw, an immediate release and then he disappeared in the darkness of his house.   
He freed the other breast, worked for a long time on it, wanting to make Saga feel what a woman could experience from a devoted lover.   
Soon they were petting on the couch like hungry teenagers, her hand found a way under his shirt, caressing his torso, then travelling lower, fighting with his belt.   
Time to move on the bed. Henrik stood up and prompted Saga to follow, pulling her up with him; her body was fluid, he wanted to keep the contact, keep walking, keep caressing her up to the bedroom door, where he stopped, his mouth again demanding, on her neck, sucking the pale skin, wanting to leave a mark, while her head bent to the side, eyes closed in pure bliss.  
While Henrik worked on her neck, Saga opened her eyes and saw the mistletoe dangling over them; a gesture from her hand made him follow her gaze; Henrik felt silly for the idea; Saga was instead serious, taking his face in her hands and kissing him, opening slowly her lips to let him in.   
Henrik was tentative at first, respectful yet eager to explore. His tongue searched hers and the first contact made hers retract, but his followed, asking permission, until her tongue moved forward again. The battle had no losers, both won and Henrik felt in heaven when Saga reciprocated, invading his mouth. A foreign land she wanted to claim, lips pushing, teeth scratching, tongue mapping all the insides. Henrik embraced Saga close, she let her arms encircle his body, pulling him to her.  
After a while, both painting hard to regain breath, Saga retracted just to let her hand go lower, to verify her target. Feeling it ready for use, she asked Henrik to take her to bed. 

“The play starts at 8 p.m., I have to be there two hours before. I go with Maja, her mom drives us and her friend, the technician from Malmo Opera, comes with us too, to control the lights, he said he wanted to make changes after the general rehearsal yesterday. You and Saga can arrive later.”   
“Ok. Your teacher told me they make a video and I can have a copy to show the grannies your work.”  
Thursday evening before dinner, Henrik was cooking and Astrid dressing the table, a slice of bread in her hand.   
Astrid work had been appreciated by her teacher, she had painted with two other students the people dressed in Victorian costumes that represented the Londoners in the background. Her attention to the details had earned her a special mention.  
She had lots of photos of the panels to send to her relatives and friends.  
Her phone had a lost call from the director and a message from him asking to be contacted immediately.  
“Mr. Henlund, I'm Astrid Sabroe.”  
“Astrid, we have a serious problem, Maria fell in her house and strained an ankle. She is with crutches, she cannot be on stage tomorrow, so you'll play instead of her. Meet me tomorrow morning at 11 in the hall, I'll help you.” Astrid face went pale, Henrik was immediately worried.  
“What's wrong?”   
“I'm on stage tomorrow. Maria is ill. The director wants me.”  
“Do you feel up to?”   
“I don’t know. Where is Saga?”   
“In Malmo police station, to see her ex colleagues before Christmas. Back in half an hour she wrote.”  
Saga arrived 25 minutes after receiving the call from an anxious Henrik.   
“What if it is too traumatic for her? She refuses the village costumes, but now she can get back to type.”  
“This is real acting, not a role play created by the mind to numb itself.”  
“Yes, you're right. She was happy to be the substitute.”  
“She had been chosen, it is a powerful injection of trust for her pride. The others applied for the roles, she was called by the director.”  
When Saga opened the door, Astrid run to her and asked help to memorize her part.  
“You already know your part, you need to focus on the visualization of the play. We'll work on it.”   
“I want you on the back stage with me.”  
“Not dad?”   
Henrik nervously smiled. He imagined Astrid would ask Saga, glad for the bond between them..  
“Dad is nervous enough, you are calm. I'll ask the director so you can be my own prompter.”  
“I'm not going to hide in the hole.”   
“No, there is a place just behind the left curtain. You'll fit in.”  
Astrid called Maja with the big news and her friend arrived soon with her mother, on a free evening from work.   
Together with Saga they helped Astrid, each taking the various roles; Henrik cooked a fast dinner and the two families sat at the table for a moment of pause before working again on the play.  
Henrik explained his stage fear as a young boy and Susanne thanks to her stage experience gave Astrid some tricks to overcome it. She suggested Astrid to simply concentrate on her character, talking to it, asking the character the classical questions: who am I , what do I want, where am I going? 

At first the director wasn't prone to the idea of having Saga around.  
Parents were better off the play, he stated. Saga was standing beside Astrid like a lioness protecting her cub. He realised he had no alternatives than accepting.   
“I need Saga. She has helped me since I became the substitute.”  
He gave up and soon discovered it was a very good idea, he appreciated Saga's competence and precision.   
Saga swiftly memorized her position, the roles of the crew and suggested to change the direction of the lights. Suzanne’ s friend spent half an hour on a ladder to follow the new instructions and later everybody agreed it was a huge improvement: the lights were now directed toward the background of the stage, focusing on the ghosts who would visit Scrooge.  
When Saga called Henrik to explain him the changes she promoted, he closed his eyes and remembered all the times Saga changed the board of the investigation.   
The director made a mental note to ask Saga’s help for the summer play at the end of the school year.  
Henrik arrived in advance with his parents in tow. He slipped the big news and they wanted to see their girl act. Saga appeared between the stage curtains – her new task monitoring the attendance to signal when to start - and noticed the trio plus Lillian and her fianceè, eager to see Astrid on stage. Henrik opened his arms in sign of defeat. The unspoken message between them, Astrid had to remain unaware the grandparents were there..  
Saga took her position in the narrow space behind the wall and the wooden panel representing the Big Ben. Her mouth was dry, hard to say if she was more worried for Astrid or for herself in such a curious situation; police manuals had no instructions for acting events, she had to play following her instinct and the spur of the moment only.   
Her eyes were fixed on Astrid, who was standing beside her, whispering with herself the first lines of her part; Scrooge called for his secretary and Astrid with decision entered the scene.  
Saga's fingers traced the lines of the script, already memorized; only Henrik knew she had spent half of the night reading it, with a little lamp pinned on the script.  
They had also discussed Astrid 's ability to manage the challenge and Saga was assertive; Astrid's roles at the village were not comparable with acting for real, having conquered a solid ground under her feet and strong shoulders to lean on; she was no more a scared orphaned girl, she had a family and a net of friends. On stage Astrid was calm, she was in control of the situation and she remembered well her lines. The boy playing the second ghost had a difficult moment and the English teacher, hidden in the hole, had to repeat him twice a line. To cover the awkwardness, the sound director made the sound of the fake chains the ghost was offering Scrooge lasts longer, so that the young actor could reset his mind and continue.   
Time flied, soon the actors playing Scrooge's family acted the last scene, Scrooge allowed Astrid Crochitt a Boxing day holiday, the choir performed the last song and when Scrooge wished the final “Merry Christmas” the curtain fell.   
The public applauded and the cast lined up while the chorus stood on the platform. The crew arrived for the second call and the director approached Saga and took her hand, prompting her to join the line. She tried to resist – being a part of the crew for a day only not a title to appear on stage - but when Astrid saw the gesture she run to Saga and took her other hand.   
Henrik was taking a video and at first did not noticed Saga, then he blinked his eyes twice, believing to have a vision.


	9. Chapter 9

CH 9

On Saturday morning Henrik prepared one of his special week end breakfast later than usual, they stayed at the school with the other families after the play, with toasts to the students and a photo of the whole cast and crew, as tradition every year to be displayed later on the corridor leading to the hall.  
The grandparents hugged the actress and complimented her, Lillian and her partner before leaving gave Astrid a gift wrapped in red paper, asking her to open it only on Christmas Eve.   
A boy with glasses and short hair was eyeing Astrid, he approached her in the corridor when she left the hall heading for the bathroom, calling her name. She turned.   
“Mads, hallo.”  
“I saw the play, you were good.”  
“Thanks.” Astrid smiled and the boy's cheeks turned slightly red; he handed her a small paper bag tied up with a blue ribbon.  
Astrid look at the bag and when she lifted up her gaze Mads was already gone. Henrik was approaching from behind her so probably Mads had took off as soon as he saw her father coming.  
“Another gift?”  
“From a classmate.”  
“He's very kind.”   
“He went to the cinema with Louise.”  
“Maybe next time he'll go with you.” Astrid’s eyes got a new light.  
“Can I go with him? You know his parents, his mother is the director of our bank branch.”  
“If he asks, I'll talk with them.”  
“Thanks, dad.”  
She went tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.   
Back in the hall Astrid received praises from her teachers and smiled coy, unused to be at the centre of attention. The art teacher had a long conversation with Saga and Henrik about her future school projects.   
Henrik retuned home feeling proud and grateful, his fears about Astrid seemed over, but his vigilance was still high and would remain so for a very long time, especially if she started going out with boys; he knew it would happen, sooner or later, but over protectiveness was in him. Astrid sometimes complained about it – like he insisting to drive her to and from school - but Henrik could not help himself being so careful with her security.   
Still nightmares of Frank haunted him at night, often Saga woke up hearing his sobs and laments; she had found a way to calm him, massaging in silence his head until he relaxed, like she was touching his demons to made them disappear.   
Calling his girls breakfast was ready, Henrik sat and bring the tea mug to his lips.  
Green tea, Saga discovered it, with antioxidants, anti cholesterol, and all the other well know benefits.  
Henrik was still stupefied how Saga - having someone to do all the cooking – changed her bad eating habitudes into a healthy lifestyle and enrolled Astrid to follow her.  
No more sandwiches from street sellers, microwave pizza or burgers, sauces and soft drinks.   
Now she wanted fresh vegetables or soups, planning a weekly rotation to assure they ate all the necessary vitamins, plus fruits every morning, cereals and proteins of vegetal origin to follow Astrid’s vegetarian tendency.  
Henrik learned to read her suggestions written on the new slate on the kitchen wall before deciding the recipe of the day.  
Saga discussed with Henrik the benefits of olive oil instead of butter and cut off food with too much cholesterol and fats. How would Saga cope with his mothers traditional cooking style for the incoming festivities had to be discovered. But before going to his old house, he had two other places to visit.   
“We’re leaving early tomorrow morning, mom asked me to be there before Babett arrives. So today we could go to the graves with new flowers.“  
Astrid’s eyes took the sad look, Henrik knew it was becoming difficult for her to go there.  
Anna was her only important people at the village, the weekly visit a ritual to treasure the memory of her beloved sister; at home Astrid’s life had a different path to follow, bringing her more and more far from her past. Henrik wanted to maintain the frequency of visits, but he was the one proposing now, and during the last months – especially after Saga moved in – Astrid thrice had good reasons to skip it. Saga suggested Astrid felt ashamed to see the grave, because she survived and Henrik did not want his daughter to be prey of guilt like saga had been, so he went alone to talk with his lost child.  
“Can I come?” Saga. Who was present when Alice coffin was put to rest in the family chapel near the father. Who never visited Anna.  
Henrik nodded, afraid to speak, so tight his throat was.   
At the flower shop, he bought a pot of white daisies for Anna and little yellow roses for Alice; Saga was looking at the flowers in display, then she picked up a pink cyclamen with a gold ribbon from one of the shelves outside, paid for it and placed it in Henrik’s box. .   
“It’s a flower for the exterior so it will survive in the graveyard.”  
At Alice’s, Henrik put the roses near her engraved name, touching briefly the stone.  
In Sweden, they walked slowly across the entrance, there were people coming and going, also from the church nearby, where voices and sounds of the organ suggested a rehearsal of the choir.   
Henrik knelt to put the daisies from the box Saga held, Astrid knelt near him, not caring the discomfort of the little stones. Saga placed her gift and made a step backward, Henrik turned, afraid she was leaving. His eyes made Saga stop and she remained by his side.  
Back home, Henrik busied himself with dinner.  
Astrid was talking with Saga and scrolling internet on Saga’s tablet; curious, Henrik tended his ear without understanding the conversation. A little pin of jealousy to be cut out, mixed with relief that his baby interacted well with Saga; then the duo approached the fire island.   
“We want to bake Swedish biscuits for tomorrow.” Astrid declared.  
“Here the recipe.” Saga turned the screen to Henrik. “My paternal grandmother baked them. Traditional Christmas biscuit, with cinnamon and ginger.”   
“And me and Saga want to prepare them together, you can supervise us.“

Henrik's parents had decorated the house inside and outside; Klaus Sabroe put lights on a garden tree and along the front door. After years both his children would sat at the Christmas table and for the first time with their families. Alice had always wanted to spend the holidays with her family and Babett and Pierre wanted to stay with his aging mother who died two years before.  
The old Sabroes found the situation quite unusual: people of three countries together, each with different traditions. Margrethe asked her children to find a shared solution. The result was a international compromise: the traditional Danish and Swedish dinner on the Eve and the French exchange of presents in the morning, a choice that suited well Henrik's need for the gift to Saga.   
The food on display was the result of a day Margrethe spent in the kitchen, with the help of Henrik during the afternoon: appetizers, salmon, duck with potatoes and red cabbage, Danish pork steak, meatballs and pickled herrings in homage to Saga. A traditional dessert with rice and strawberry sauce concluded the meal.   
Astrid opened Lillian’s gift, a thin silver brooch with an arrow on it and Mads’, a little figure made of corn and bamboo.  
Henrik asked Astrid to follow him upstairs and they remained there for a long time; when they retuned, both with puffy eyes, Astrid wore a shining bracelet on her right wrist.   
Pierre and Babett decided to attend the midnight mass at the small church where they exchanged their marital wows in front of their Danish relatives and friends, while in Paris they had the civil wedding. Astrid was curious to see the catholic celebration and the choir performing. Henrik accepted the idea, wanting to thank God – whatever church would be good for him - for his new found family. Saga was doubtful, but when they wore coats and hats she impulsively followed.   
Renaud was coughing a little and Babett said it was much colder than in Paris, so the twins remained home with their grandparents.   
The songs and the music form the organ of the church filled every heart with hope.  
Saga listened with attention to her first sermon; the priest was a young man with a polish accent and his voice showed the joy for the birth of the saviour.  
Henrik was tense, Saga noticed the way his fingers were contracting rhythmically They were sat in one of the last rows, Pierre near the aisle, then his wife, an arm over Astrid's shoulder, Henrik and Saga closed the line.  
Saga touched Henrik's arm with her elbow and he remained immobile. The organ started the notes of the traditional song by Wade, powerful male voices of the choir inviting the believers to come to Bethlehem. The music pulsed in Henrik's head, his forehead started sweating, his breathing became faster, he passed a finger between neck and shirt, to get air. Then he asked Saga to let him pass and stood up.   
He walked to the exit, unsteady, leaning on the small table near the door; arush of cold air reached Saga, who soon followed him outside.   
She found him on the stairs, hands on the rally. Henrik was suffocating inside, the whole weight of Christmas fell on him like a huge blow.  
The gospel about the holy night, the travelling family and their quest for a place to rest, the birth of Jesus, all reminders of the family he lost.   
Guilt again filled him, he was drowning in sorrows; his head started spinning and his eyes tight shut to maintain equilibrium.  
He was unaware Saga was there, until she took his arm, making him turn. In the faint light of the lamp over the main door, she saw how pain contorted his face.  
He moved forward and his arms went around Saga, his face in her hair, more than a need, a urge, she let him do, he breathed her.   
“It was all my fault.”  
“It's only an over emotional moment you're experiencing.”.  
“It's like it happened yesterday, not years ago.”  
“It will pass. This year was hard for us, especially you. The festive season opens up all kind of memories.”   
His hug became so strong Saga felt all their bones and understood how precious for Henrik was the gift of touch. The revelation touching him was different from touching her previous lovers: being a live in partner opened up new ways to be together.   
Henrik was the force that helped her go through the prison, the following investigation and all the events that changed her life during the last months: he deserved something beautiful for once, so Saga moved her head tentatively up, to meet his, freed an arm from his grasp to caress his cheek.   
Henrik tightened the embrace, afraid to let Saga slip away, desperate in his need of contact.   
“I need to breathe.”  
“Sorry.”  
He let her go, keeping his arms around her lower back, relaxed, calmer.   
In his eyes Saga read the truth.   
“I love you.” She whispered, then her face moved closer to claim his lips in a delicate kiss.   
Astrid found them still kissing when, worried for their absence, she left her seat.   
“Dad, you left?”  
The couple turned and Henrik smiled at his daughter.   
“It's nothing, Astrid, I was thinking about sad things, but now you and Saga are here, all is well. Let's go back together.”   
At home, they settled in their complicated sleeping arrangements; Babette, Pierre and the twins in the attic, Astrid in her aunt's former bedroom, Saga and Henrik had a new bed in his old room, narrow for two but it had to fit in. It meant privacy, acknowledgement they were officially a couple and for Henrik an excuse to sleep closer.   
Henrik gave Astrid the good night kiss then disappeared downstairs; Saga was awake reading and she was sure to hear his voice talking with Pierre. Was it related to their fatherly roles, having to place the presents under the tree?  
She had asked Henrik if he planned to wear the red costume, white beard and fake belly, to entertain the family in the morning as tradition required.  
He laughed and explained his father used to play the Santa role, with his girls he and Alice always visited her parents – wealthy family with no Santa ideas - so he had new plans.   
Henrik was cold as ice when he entered the bed, clad in a old style striped flannel pj Saga found absolutely lust killing; he tried to snuggle Saga to get some of her heath but she wriggled away, telling he was a cold fish.


	10. Chapter 10

CH 10

The twins and Astrid woke everybody up at 8 am, impatient and curious; they had already received a “madeleine” each from Pierre who was preparing his sons' favourite breakfast with crepes and marmalade.  
The families met in the sitting room, Henrik turned the stereo on for a bit of traditional music and Saga sat with her back to the fireplace, observing the confusion around her. Under the tree lied all the gifts, wrapped up in a red or gold paper with patters of trees and snowmen.   
Phones started ringing again, best wishes from France, other relatives and friends asking about Astrid, Lillian asking Henrik if her gift has been appreciated, the florist delivering flowers from Henrik to his mother.  
Saga had seen various movies, also foreign, read novels, never experienced a true Christmas time.  
The closest thing was when she and Jennifer shared for a few months that ridiculously small one room flat, cheap furniture and the smell from the ethnic restaurant on ground floor.  
Jennifer wanted a tiny tree and asked Saga a little money to buy her a gift, a pair of gloves for the bike ride to the university.   
They ate at the small plastic table, a single candle in the middle to decorate it.   
The following Christmas Saga had a grave to visit.   
Confusion and the twins’ cries distracted Saga from her sad memories. Pierre gave way to the twins to find their gifts under the tree, toys, identical tablets, Lego, new skies and ski boots for their January Alps trip.  
The grandparents lost count of the items each twin wanted to show them.   
Astrid opened her long series of boxes, including new clothes, mainly coming from Paris, books about impressionist painters and a small camera from the grannies that Saga bought on their request in Malmo.  
Saga was still until Henrik prompted her to go find her own boxes, she discovered five had her name on the tag.  
A book about history of Nordic countries from 1800 on from Henrik's dad, a soft hand knitted green scarf from Henrik's mother, an acquarel of the Oresund bridge made by Astrid, a warm brown undercoat from Babette – the package of a famous Parisian department store - and a necklace with a horse from Henrik.  
The undercoat was her perfect size, how could Babette have guessed it become clear when the siblings exchanged a look of complicity, then Henrik left the room to return with a box for Astrid.  
She pulled the large ribbon and the box opened by itself, revealing a brown puppy, around three months old, at a closer inspection inbreed with a Labrador.  
“I've find her in a shelter, there was a litter of five, she was the sweetest so I reserved her. We can create a safe space for her in the back garden with a covered corner for the sunny days.”  
Astrid concentrated on the dog forgetting everything else, she missed when Saga offered Henrik the chrono watch she found in a vintage shop after an extensive search.   
The necklace appeared minimal, compared to her relationship, or better the importance Henrik put on them being together; Henrik noticed Saga's continuous touching it and smiled. His plan was working well, she was puzzled; time for his move.   
“Let's go outside, get coat and boots. Astrid, put this lead on the puppy and take her.”  
“We remain inside, it’s cold we'll look from the window.” Babette and her family moved to the kitchen.   
Saga went to the front door.  
“This way, Saga.” Henrik pointed at the back door of the kitchen. Outside stood an animal trailer and a man was helping a horse descend.  
Everybody stared at Saga who wondered why she was the centre of attention.   
“Saga, this is our gift. We've got her thanks to my cousin Hans, her owner had to give her up after seven years.”   
“It 's good for Astrid. Horses are good to build self confidence and comfort for people with anxiety and social problems. Horse therapy ...” Henrik stopped her, lifting a hand; she read well his signs and wasn't angry at the interruption.  
“No, no, Saga, its for you, she's yours, you have a horse now.” 

Saga was lost the moment Henrik explained. Hers for real, her first animal, big to be a pet, but a pet nevertheless. All the times she asked her father a dog, as a kid, lead her to that moment. A black beauty, shining in the morning light. She approached the horse and Hans handed her the reins. Saga passed a hand over the horse’s back and the animal turned her head, smelling Saga's hair.   
“What’s her name?”   
“It's engraved on the back of your necklace.”  
Saga read Windy, she did seem a horse free like the wind; Hans had a proposal.   
“She can stay in my farm until you decide where to keep her.”  
Saga turned to Henrik, he simply gave her a peek on the cheek.   
“Merry Christmas.”   
She nodded, unable to thank him properly.   
The old Sabroes returned inside and Astrid followed with the puppy, whispering in her hear that she had her own surprise to set up.  
Saga started questions about horses: the practical aspects of the situation dawned on her. It wasn't a dog or a cat, it was an animal weighting up to 400 Kilo, and in need of proper care, food and a place to live.  
“How can I manage her? We live in town.”  
Henrik was fast in reassuring Saga.   
“My relatives had horses for decades, since my maternal grandfather, my uncle went on breeding them. We can find a manege for her near home.”   
Hans put Windy back on the trailer and they agreed to visit her the following day.   
Henrik asked saga to walk with him in the back garden to the orchard.  
“There is a project I'm thinking about with Hans and dad. Hans' son wants to be a doctor so he won't help in the farm and his daughter is only eight. The land starts at the end of the garden, up that little hill. My parents built this house on mom’s land. We could restore the old warehouse there, on the right, near the reservoir, turn it in a house and live in the countryside. Its just a short drive to town and the bridge.”   
“Are you serious?”   
Saga was looking at Henrik with extreme attention.  
“If we all agree, yes, it will take time so nobody has to decide now.”  
“And you'll work in a farm?”   
“Family tradition? Dad often helped since retirement. I’m thinking what to do after Lillian returns. I’m not going in the field again. If there is a place in the higher ranks, or I could teach at the police academy, maybe part time. I know I’ll have to give exams.”   
“So if you plan to restore the warehouse my horse could stay here.”  
“I hope you'll stay, too.”

When they returned inside, Astrid and Klaus were near a new easel in the middle of the living room. There was a canvas on it, covered by a sheet.   
“Don’t peek!”  
Astrid chastised her aunt who tried to lift a corner of the sheet.   
Saga had observed the Duprè family carefully, Babette blond hair, Pierre’s French nose and his hair, still dark for a man close to sixty, the twins blond and pale. She was sure of her intuition and decided to keep it to herself; she had already caused a divorce discussing about paternity.   
Astrid asked Henrik to stand near the easel.   
She took a deep breath, she had a small sheet hidden in her hand for her speech. et.   
“This is a surprise for my father. I am sorry for all the problems we had since we found each other again but I want to tell him he is the best father. I am happy to be home with him and Saga and it's beautiful to be here all together this special morning with my grannies and my little cousins. Grandpa was great in helping me with the surprise. Lift the sheet, dad.”  
Henrik’s hand trembled when he grabbed the low corner. With a single motion the canvas unveiled, revealing a portrait of Henrik sat in his living room, dressed in one of his dark suits, holding a book in hand, his other hand on his chin, on the wall behind him a small paint in the paint with the half body of two women, long blond and hazel short hair.  
Henrik stood still, unbelieving the beauty of the paint, his baby has worked with great ability.  
He hugged Astrid for a long time, hiding his face in her hair, tears of happiness wetting his eyes. Then Astrid showed him the details, how her teachers had helped her using a photo of Henrik and suggesting her the best technique to use.


	11. Chapter 11

CH 11

After a fast French style lunch - mainly assiettes of cold cuts and cheese, foie gras and other confits - Astrid played with the twins on the carpet, building a Lego farm with the help of her dog who bite random pieces. Babette handed Saga a cup of coffee and sat on the couch beside her with another cup, glad to have time to talk with her brother’s partner. .  
“Your horse is beautiful.”  
“She's at your cousin now.”  
“The twins want so see her. I have warm clothes for the barn. Tomorrow?”  
“We're going there tomorrow. Hans lends me trousers and boots to teach me to ride her. He says it is easy.”  
“Henrik can ride, me too, but it has been a long time...” She turned to the voices from the table. “ “Mom, stop pressing Henrik to eat another slice, he's full!”  
“The cake was good. What was it called?”  
“Marmor. It resembles a marble. It’s tradition for Pierre. His mother’s recipe. Kids like the mix of cocoa and flour patterns in the cake.”  
“Henrik wants to try it at home for us.”  
“He's so happy, and mom too. He was lost to us for ages.”  
“Now he's found.”  
“Thanks to you and Astrid, I know what you did, you have our eternal gratitude.”  
“I did it for him.”  
“From what I see, also for you. It is serious, isn’t it?”  
Saga nodded.  
“He came home with you for Christmas. Alice never wanted to be here. Alice and me didn’t had a good relationship. She was so proud of her girls, two in just three years of marriage. She wanted the third, wanted a son, but Henrik said no.”  
“Is it so? I thought he wanted more children.”  
“I think he felt the family was becoming too much, too soon and had to reflect.”  
“He hoped they’d return.”  
“After so many years? It’s unhealthy to be alone like he did.”  
Saga doubted Babette knew about the club and decide it was not her task to reveal Henrik’s secret  
“Loneliness has different shapes.”  
“You’re right, but my brother never was a monk. And he could have another child, find another woman. Come on, he’s a good catch.”  
“But if he found one who didn’t want children?”  
Babett eyed Saga in a strange way, opened her mouth then closed it, took a long breath and went on.  
“It’s all about love, I think, deep feelings can change people a lot. I wanted to help Henrik more, but we didn't talked a lot about that, I was struggling with my miscarriages. And never a kind word from Alice, Henrik was ashamed for her behaviour.”  
“But you got the twins.”  
“Henrik didn't told you? No, I see. We Sabroe siblings aren't lucky with kids.”  
The sad words of Babette - explaining how she and Pierre spent years in examinations and medicines, when Pierre's poor sperm count forced them to use a donor and the twins were born after four attempts - hit the hidden cord in Saga, the one she was still trying to process. She was right in guessing the parentage. Babette saw she was not surprised.  
“So you noticed it. Always a detective.”  
“I've noticed it and thought it was private.”  
“You're family now, we have no secrets. Pierre adores his sons, the same for them. Like Astrid you. She placed you in the paint, not Alice.”  
Babette was right, Astrid could have easily drawed her mother and sister, instead she went for her actual family. The decision to live with them was right.  
Henrik sat with a cup of coffee on the near armchair.  
“I see you're getting on well.”  
Babette smiled.  
“I've always wanted a sister.”  
“I know and you got three males at home.”  
“I hope you'll come to Paris soon and stay with us, we have space, the mini apartment Pierre used for his mother is now free.. I could show Astrid and Saga Paris, do some shopping, while the men look after the kids. You are an uncle Henrik, remember. You have duties.” She teased him. 

Christmas dinner was a simple affair, leftovers and a soup, because no one was really hungry. The fire in the sitting room was lit and the grandfathers read bedtime stories to the twins, Pierre and Saga started a discussion about neuroscience, Babette was on skype with a friend in Paris, the dog sleeping on a chair and Henrik and Astrid were playing cards.  
She was much better than him, winning all the times but one. Henrik felt she let him win, he told Saga; they were the last to retire for the night, their task to cover the remains of the fire with ashes. Completed, they headed for the bedroom.  
“Astrid is smart in logical things.”  
“She's so like you sometimes, I feel your minds run faster than mine. Is she so, or does she copy you as her new role model?”  
“It can be a characteristic of female brains, studies tend to demonstrate a female can perceive more information from her immediate surroundings in the same time than a male. You’re good at details, but you’re not a woman.”  
”So what did you perceive here?”  
“That your mother cooks good, but not as good as you. Her sauce cocktail lacks orange. Your dad scratches his neck whenever he tries to speak a French word with Pierre. The twins aren't perfectly identical, Renaud has a small mole close to his right ear and Jakob a twisted toe in his left feet. The dog peed in the corridor and I smelled it before all of you - I cleaned it up - and you ate alone the whole bowl of dried and dehydrated fruits. It's highly caloric, you’ll get weight.”  
“I devoured her dried fruits since I was a kid, she has a special device to dehydratate them naturally.”  
“I grabbed only a fig and two apricots.”  
“I'll buy more for you at home.”  
“You mother wants to give us the same machine she uses and we’ll dry pineapple, too, it is less dangerous for your waistline.”  
“So it seems all went well with my family. My sister you were so scared of?”  
“She's intelligent and she wants to protect you, it's evident the way she speaks of you.”  
“She gave me her blessing about us.”  
“You do love her, don't you?”  
“We always had a strong bond, when she married Pierre I was her best man.”  
Henrik explained Saga how Babette and Pierre met while changing for the night.  
henrik felt he has lost his sister when she choose France and he kept her at a distance during his hard years, although she always called him twice a month or wrote if he did not answered.  
Babette never complained about his behaviour, simply accepted Henrik and his demons.  
“She did for you like you did for me when I pushed you away.”  
“I had a great lesson from her. She is younger but wiser than me. Life wasn’t kind with her, too, did she tell you about her children?”  
“Yes. And didn’t tell her about our…you know.” He nodded, it was rude to reveal the abortion to a woman who had multiple miscarriages. She’d understood, Henrik was sure, still he didn’t’ want Saga to be judged.  
“I’m glad you stick to me during prison time.”  
Saga had long therapy session to analyze her behaviour in prison, how many times she refused to see Henrik, or allowed him a few minutes only, never caring about the sad look on his face. The same when she only wanted sex, without talking, leaving the visiting room as soon as they were done. Still he was there every week for her.  
“I’m sorry when I refused to see you, I’m different now.”  
“We are both, I worked with my doctor a lot, about the wrong things I did. The only right thing was that I needed you.”  
“We need each other.”  
Saga put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him close.  
He accepted the request, glad to feel her, their intimacy a craving he always had, no matter the time or place, not caring to be heard making love by the others in the house.  
When both lied on their backs, spent and satisfied, Henrik slowly caressing Saga's palm, he looked straight into her eyes and smiled.  
“Thanks for the best Christmas of my life.” 

EPILOGUE

“We could have flied, it’d be faster.”  
“Yes, but grandma asked me to bring Babette two boxes of home made preserves and other Danish food and I'm sure we'll fill our boot when we leave. It’s mid term sales, Babette wrote me. And I plan to buy French groceries, too. It’s the nation of breast duck!”  
Henrik looked at Astrid, already excited for the promised shopping trip with her aunt. She and Saga compromised, half day shopping, half day museums, three tourist discount cards already bought from internet.  
“While me and Henrik drive, you can see new landscapes, Astrid, and find ideas for your geography essay.”  
“I took lots of photos when we stayed the night in that village in Holland and when we passed through the battlefields of the Somme today.”  
“Saga is right. And it is good for history, too. It is first hand knowledge, not from books or internet. Not all your classmates travel like you for Easter holidays.”  
“Maja is in Italy with her Mom for a Malmo opera performance in Milan. But in my classroom I have already the best ideas for ess….Saga are you listening to me?  
“Sorry. A long text from Klaus.”  
“Now my father texts you?”  
“He thinks you’re driving. So….the architect has a new project for the ground floor of our house, …he wants to see us when we are back…and….oh my God..”  
“What happens? Dad, Saga is crying! Saga!”  
“Windy is with foal!”  
“That’s why she was so strange last Sunday! Hans called the veterinarian?”  
“Yes, who confirmed Hans’ suspicion. I’m not crying Astrid, I’m happy. It seems you’ll have your own horse soon.”  
“I wonder who the stallion is.”  
“She’s often out with your old horse, maybe Groggen isn’t so old.”  
“Groggen is the father of the foal?”  
“It can be, Astrid, I'm sure Hans knows best.”  
“Saga, look at the road signs, we're close, I don't want to miss our exit. Pierre says the motorways are so complicated here, especially the Peripherique.”  
“I'm on it.”  
“Dad, Saga, look right, what is it?”  
All heads turned to follow the indication.  
A thin structure pointing up the sky in the spring sunset light captured their attention.  
“It's the Tour Eiffel, Astrid, we're in Paris now.”


End file.
